UC-NRLF 


MABEL    MARTIN 


A  HARVEST  IDYL 


BY 


JOHN   GREENLEAF   WHITTIER 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON 
JAMES    R.  OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY 

LATE  TICKNOR  S:  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS  OSGOOD  &  Co. 
1876 


COPYRIGHT,  1874. 
BY  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  £  CO. 


Al 
/8 
MAIN 


NOTE 

THE  substance  of  this  poem,  under  the  name  of  The 
Witch's  Daughter,  was  published  some  years  ago  in  the 
volume  entitled  "  Home  Ballads."  For  reproducing  it  in 
its  present  form  with  some  additions  to  its  original  text, 
the  author  hopes  to  find  an  excuse  in  the  beauty  of  the 
illustrations  which  the  change  has  suggested. 


[77/6'  engravings  are  by  A.  V.  S.  ANTHONY,  tinder  -whose  supervision  the 
book  is  prepared,\ 

ARTIST.  PAGE. 

MABEL  MARTIN MARY  A.  HALLOCK    Front 

VIGNETTE JOHN  J.  HARLEY    .      TW*. 

VIGNETTES  TO  NOTE »               «          .    .      5 

VIGNETTE «               «                     5 

HEAD-PIECE  TO  ILLUSTRATIONS  .    .  A.  R.  WAUD     ...      7 

BORDER  TO  PROEM MARY  A.  HALLOCK  .     13 

VIGNETTE A.  R.  WAUD      ...     14 


THE  RIVER  VALLEY  (Half-title  to  Part  One)  "  ...     15 

VIGNETTE "  .    .    .     16 

"Across  the  level  tableland".     .     .     .     T.  MORAN     ....     17 


Illustrations. 

"On  its  brink 
With  roots  half  bare  the  pine-trees  cling"  .     .     T.  MORAN  .     .     18 

"Yon  wind-scourged  sand-dunes,  cold  and  bleak"      "  .     .     19 

"  Pass  with  me  down  the  path  that  winds 

Through  birches  to  the  open  land "      .     .  "  .     .     21 

"  The  household  ruin,  century-old w  ......  .     .     22 

"  Sit  with  me  while  the  westering  day 

Falls  slantwise  down  the  quiet  vale "    .     .  "  .     .     23 

"  Deer  Island's  pines " "  .     .     24 


THE  HUSKING  (Half  nth  to  Part  TWO}  ....    A.  R.  WAUD  .  25 

VIGNETTE "  .26 

"  The  old  swallow-haunted  barns "    .     .       MARY  A.  HALLOCK  27 

"  On  Esek  Harden's  oaken  floor 

Lay  the  heaped  ears  of  unhusked  corn  "  .     T.  MORAN  .     .  28 

"  Thither  came  young  men  and  maids  "       MARY  A.  HALLOCK  29 

"  How  pleasantly  the  rising  moon  "  .     .     .     .     T.  MORAN  .     .  30 

"And  quaint  old  songs  their  fathers  sung"  MARY  A.  HALLOCK  31 

"The  red-ear" T.  MORAN  .     .  32 


THE  WITCH'S  DAUGHTER  (Half-title  to  Part  Three)  A.  R.  WAUD  .    33 

VIGNETTE "  -34 

"  Mabel  Martin  sat  apart " MARY  A.  HALLOCK     35 


Illustrations. 

Curious  thousands  thronged  to  see 

Her  mother  at  the  gallows-tree  "...     MARY  A.  HALLOCK     36 


Young  Mabel  from  her  mother's  grave 
Crept  to  her  desolate  hearth-stone  "  . 


39 


"  O,  dreary  broke  the  winter  days  "     .     .     T.  MORAN  ....     40 

"  Indian  Summer's  airs  of  balm  "...  ....     41 

"She  saw  the  horseshoe's  curved  charm"   MARY  A.  HALLOCK    42 


"Who  turned,  in  Salem's  dreary  jail, 
Her  worn  old  Bible  o'er  and  o'er  "    . 

"  Small  leisure  have  the  poor  for  grief"  . 


43 
44 


THE  CHAMPION  (Half-title  to  Part  Four)  .    .    A.  R.  WAUD  ...    45 

VIGNETTE "  ...    46 

"But  cruel  eyes  have  found  her  out"      .     MARY  A.  HALLOCK    47 


"  Her  sad  eyes  met  the  troubled  gaze 
Of  one"    . 


"  Let  Goody  Martin  rest  in  peace  "  .  . 
"  But  one  sly  maiden  spake  aside  "  .  . 
TAIL-PIECE 


48 


52 


IN    THE    SHADOW  (Half-title  to  Part  Five}       .       A.    R.    WAUD.       .       .       53 

VIGNETTE «  ...    54 

"  The  nameless  terrors  of  the  wood  "  .     .     MARY  A.  HALLOCK     51; 


Illustrations. 


•'She  leaned  against  the  door"  ....     MARY  A.  HALLOCK     57 

58 


"  Through  the  willow-boughs  below 
She  saw  the  rippled  waters  shine  "  . 


"  Across  the  wooded  space 
The  harvest  lights  of  Harden  shone 


T.  MORAN  . 


59 


"  The  prayer,  begun  in  faith, 
Grew  to  a  low,  despairing  cry  "...     MARY  A.  HALLOCK     60 


;  A  shadow  on  the  moonlight  fell " 


62 


THE  BETROTHAL  (Half-title  to  Part  Six)     .  A.  R.  WAUD  .    .    .63 

VIGNETTE  .............      "  ...    64 

"  You  know  rough  Esek  Harden  well "   .  MARY  A.  HALLOCK     65 

"  When  she  smiled, 

Upon  his  knees,  a  little  child  "...  66 

"  Her  tears  of  grief  were  tears  of  joy  "    .  67 

"  He  led  her  through  his  dewy  fields  "     .  "                "            68 

"  Henceforth  she  stands  no  more  alone "  "            69 

"  O,  pleasantly  the  harvest-moon "      .     .  T.  MORAN.     ...     71 

"And  the  wind  whispered, 'It  is  well!'"  "         ....     72 


MABEL    MARTIN 


\/r. 


I  CALL  the  old  time  back  :  I  bring  my  lay          •*;.'•' 
In  tender  memory  of  the  summer  day 
l{     When,  where  our  native  river  lapsed  away, 

We  dreamed  it  over,  while  the  thrushes  made 
Songs  of  their  own,  and  the  great  pine-trees  laid 
On  warm  noonlights  the  masses  of  their  shade. 

And  she  was  with  us,  living  o'er  again 

Her  life  in  ours,  despite  of  years  and  pain,  — 

The  Autumn's  brightness  after  latter  rain. 

Beautiful  in  her  holy  peace  as  one 

Who  stands,  at  evening,  when  the  work  is  done, 

Glorified  in  the  setting  of  the  sun  ! 

Her  memory  makes  our  common  landscape  seem 
Fairer  than  any  of  which  painters  dream  ; 
Lights  the  brown  hills  and  sings  in  every  stream  ; 

For  she  whose  speech  was  always  truth's  pure  gold. 
Heard,  not  unpleased,  its  simple  legends  told, 
And  loved  with  us  the  beautiful  and  old. 


ty  \      /v 


MABEL    MARTIN. 

ACROSS  the  level  tableland, 
A  grassy,  rarely  trodden  way, 
With  thinnest  skirt  of  birchen  spray 


And  stunted  growth  of  cedar,  leads 
To  where  you  see  the  dull  plain  fall 
Sheer  off,  steep-slanted,  ploughed  by  all 


PART    I 


THE    RIVER    VALLEY 


Mabel  Martin. 


The  seasons'  rainfalls.     On  its  brink 
The  over-leaning  harebells  swing, 
With  roots  half  bare  the  pine-trees  cling ; 


And,  through  the  shadow] 

-&H 

looking  west,'ij 

^mi;* 

You  see  the  wavering 

$ 
river  flow 

Along  a  vale,  that  far  below 


18 


Mabel  Martin. 

Holds  to  the  sun,  the  sheltering  hills, 
And  glimmering  water-line  between, 
Broad  fields  of  corn  and  meadows  green, 

And  fruit-bent  orchards  grouped  around 
The  low  brown  roofs  and  painted  eaves, 
And  chimney-tops  half  hid  in  leaves. 


No  warmer  valley  hides  behind 

Yon  wind-scourged  sand-dunes,  cold  and  bleak ; 
No  fairer  river  comes  to  seek 


Mabel  Martin. 


The  wave-sung  welcome  of  the  sea, 


Or  mark  the  northmost  border  line 
Of  sun-loved  growths  of  nut  and  vine. 

Here,  ground-fast  in  their  native  fields, 
Untempted  by  the  city's  gain, 
The  quiet  farmer  folk  remain 

Who  bear  the  pleasant  name  of  Friends, 
And  keep  their  fathers'  gentle  ways 
And  simple  speech  of  Bible  days ; 

In  whose  neat  homesteads  woman  holds 
With  modest  ease  her  equal  place, 
And  wears  upon  her  tranquil  face 


Mabel  Martin. 

The  look  of  one  who,  merging  not 
Her  self-hood  in  another's  will, 
Is  love's  and  duty's  handmaid  still. 


Pass  with  me  down  the  path  that  winds 
Through  birches  to  the  open  land, 
Where,  close  upon  the  river  strand 


Mabel  Martin. 

You  mark  a  cellar,  vine  o'errun, 

Above  whose  wall  of  loosened  stones 


The  sumach  lifts  its  reddening  cones, 


And  the  black  nightshade's  berries  shine, 
And  broad,  unsightly  burdocks  fold 
The  household  ruin,  century-old. 


Mabel  Martin. 

Here,  in  the  dim  colonial  time 

Of  sterner  lives  and  gloomier  faith, 
A  woman  lived,  tradition  saith, 


Who  wrought  her  neighbors  foul  annoy, 
And  witched  and  plagued  the  country-side, 
Till  at  the  hangman's  hand  she  died. 


Sit  with  me  while  the  westering  day 
Falls  slantwise  down  the  quiet  vale, 
And,  haply,  ere  yon  loitering  sail, 


Mabel  Martin. 

That  rounds  the  upper  headland,  falls 
Below  Deer  Island's  pines,  or  sees 

Behind  it  Hawkswood's  belt  of  trees 

"•* 

Rise  black  against  the  sinking  sun, 
My  idyl  of  its  days  of  old, 
The  valley's  legend  shall  be  told. 


PART    II 


THE    HUSKING 


IT  was  the  pleasant 
harvest-time, 

When  cellar-bins 
i 
are  closely  stowed, 


And  garrets  bend 


beneath  their  load, 


And  the  old  swallow-haunted  barns,  — 
Brown-gabled,  long,  and  full  of  seams 
Through  which  the  moted  sunlight  streams, 


Mabel  Martin. 

And  winds  blow  freshly  in,  to  shake 
The  red  plumes  of  the  roosted  cocks, 
And  the  loose  hay-mow's  scented  locks, 

Are  filled  with  summer's  ripened  stores, 
Its  odorous  grass  and  barley  sheaves, 
From  their  low  scaffolds  to  their  eaves. 


On  Esek  Harden's  oaken  floor, 

With  many  an  autumn  threshing  worn, 
Lay  the  heaped  ears  of  unhusked  corn. 


Mabel  Martin. 

And  thither  came  young  men  and  maids, 
Beneath  a  moon  that,  large  and  low, 


Lit  that  sweet  eve  of  long  ago. 


They  took  their  places ;    some  by  chance, 
And  others  by  a  merry  voice 


Or  sweet  smile  guided  to  their  choice. 


Mabel  Martin. 

How  pleasantly  the  rising  moon, 
Between  the  shadow  of  the  mows, 
Looked  on  them  through  the  great  elm-boughs! 


On  sturdy  boyhood,  sun-embrowned, 
On  girlhood  with  its  solid  curves 
Of  healthful  strength  and  painless  nerves ! 


And  jests  went  round,  and  laughs  that  made 
The  house-dog  answer  with  his  howl, 
And  kept  astir  the  barn-yard  fowl ; 


Mabel  Martin. 


And  quaint  old  songs  their  fathers  sung 
In  Derby  dales  and  Yorkshire  moors, 
Ere  Norman  William  trod  their  shores  ; 


And  tales,  whose  merry  license  shook 
The  fat  sides  of  the  Saxon  thane, 
Forgetful  of  the  hovering  Dane, — 


Mabel  Martin. 

Rude  plays  to  Celt  and  Cimbri  known, 
The  charms  and  riddles  that  beguiled 
On  Oxus'  banks  the  young  world's  child, 

That  primal  picture-speech  wherein 
Have  youth  and  maid  the  story  told, 
So  new  in  each,  so  dateless  old, 

Recalling  pastoral  Ruth  in  her 

Who  waited,  blushing  and  demure, 
The  red-ear's  kiss  of  forfeiture. 


PART    III 


THE    WITCH'S   DAUGHTER 


BUT  still  the  sweetest  voice  was  mute 

That  river-valley  ever  heard 

« 

From  lips  of  maid  or  throat  of  bird  ; 


For  Mabel  Martin  sat  apart, 

And  let  the  hay-mow's  shadow  fall 
Upon  the  loveliest  face  of  all. 


Mabel  Martin. 

She  sat  apart,  as  one  forbid, 

Who  knew  that  none  would  condescend 
To  own  the  Witch-wife's  child  a  friend. 


The  seasons  scarce  had 
gone  their  round, 

Since  curious  thousands 
thronged  to  see 

Her  mother  at 


Mabel  Martin. 

And  mocked  the  prison-palsied  limbs 
That  faltered  on  the  fatal  stairs, 
And  wan  lip  trembling  with  its  prayers ! 

Few  questioned  of  the  sorrowing  child, 
Or,  when  they  saw  the  mother  die, 
Dreamed  of  the  daughter's  agony. 

They  went  up  to  their  homes  that  day, 
As  men  and  Christians  justified  : 
God  willed  it,  and  the  wretch  had  died  ! 

Dear  God  and  Father  of  us  all, 
Forgive  our  faith  in  cruel  lies,  - 
Forgive  the  blindness  that  denies  ! 

37 


Mabel  Martin. 

Forgive  thy  creature  when  he  takes, 
For  the  all-perfect  love  thou  art, 
Some  grim  creation  of  his  heart. 

Cast  down  our  idols,  overturn 
Our  bloody  altars  ;    let  us  see 
Thyself  in  thy  humanity  ! 


Young  Mabel  from  her  mother's  grave 


Crept  to  her  desolate  hearth-stone, 
And  wrestled  with  her  fate  alone; 

With  love,  and  anger,  and  despair, 
The  phantoms  of  disordered  sense, 

The  awful  doubts  of  Providence ! 

38 


Mabel  Martin. 


O,  dreary  broke  the  winter  days, 
And  dreary  fell  the  winter  nights 
When,  one  by  one,  the  neighboring  lights 


39 


Mabel  Martin. 


Went  out,  and  human  sounds  grew  still, 
And  all  the  phantom-peopled  dark 
Closed  round  her  hearth-fire's  dying  spark. 


And  summer  days  were  sad  and  long, 
And  sad  the  uncompanioned  eves, 
And  sadder  sunset-tinted  leaves, 


Mabel  Martin. 


And  Indian  Summer's  airs  of  balm  ; 
She  scarcely  felt  the  soft  caress, 
The  beauty  died  of  loneliness! 


The  school-boys  jeered  her  as  they  passed, 
And,  when  she  sought  the  house  of  prayer, 
Her  mother's  curse  pursued  her  there. 


Mabel  Martin. 

And  still  o'er  many  a  neighboring  door 
She  saw  the  horseshoe's  curved  charm, 
To  guard  against  her  mother's  harm  : 


That  mother,  poor  and  sick  and  lame, 
Who  daily,  by  the  old  arm-chair, 
Folded  her  withered  hands  in  prayer ; 


Mabel  Martin. 

Who  turned,  in  Salem's  dreary  jail, 
Her  worn  old   Bible  o'er  and  o'er, 
When  her  dim  eyes  could  read  no  more  ! 


43 


Mabel  Martin. 

Sore  tried  and  pained,  the  poor  girl  kept 
Her  faith,  and  trusted  that  her  way, 
So  dark,  would  somewhere  meet  the  day 

And  still  her  weary  wheel  went   round 
Day  after  day,  with  no  relief: 
Small  leisure  have  the  poor  for  grief. 


PART   IV 


THE    CHAMPION 


So  in  the  shadow  Mabel  sits  ; 

Untouched  by  mirth   she  sees  and  hears, 
Her  smile  is  sadder  than  her  tears. 


But  cruel  eyes  have  found  her  out, 
And  cruel  lips  repeat  her  name, 
And  taunt  her  with  her  mother's  shame. 


47 


Mabel  Martin. 

She  answered  not  with  railing  words, 
But  drew  her  apron  o'er  her  face, 
And,  sobbing,  glided  from  the  place. 


And  only  pausing  at  the  door, 

Her  sad  eyes  met  the  troubled  gaze 
Of  one  who,  in  her  better  days, 


assv        ,..,-      ^-:. 


Mabel  Martin. 

Had  been  her  warm  and  steady  friend, 
Ere  yet  her  mother's  doom  had  made 
Even  Esek  Harden  half  afraid. 

He  felt  that  mute  appeal  of  tears, 
And,  starting,  with  an  angry  frown, 
Hushed  all  the  wicked  murmurs  down. 

"  Good  neighbors  mine,"  he  sternly  said, 
"  This  passes  harmless  mirth  or  jest ; 
I  brook  no  insult  to  my  guest. 

"  She  is  indeed  her  mother's  child ; 
But  God's  sweet  pity  ministers 
Unto  no  whiter  soul  than  hers. 


49 


Mabel  Martin. 

"  Let  Goody  Martin  rest  in  peace  ; 
I  never  knew  her  harm  a  fly, 
And  witch  or  not,  God  knows  —  not  I. 


I  know  who  swore  her  life  away  ; 
And  as  God  lives,   I  'd  not  condemn 
An   Indian  dog  on  word  of  them." 


Mabel  Martin. 

The  broadest  lands  in  all  the  town, 
The  skill  to  guide,  the  power  to  awe, 
Were   Harden's  ;    and  his  word  was  law. 


None  dared  withstand  him  to  his  face, 
But  one  sly  maiden  spake  aside : 
"  The  little  witch  is  evil-eyed  ! 


Mabel  Martin. 

"  Her  mother  only  killed  a  cow, 
Or  witched  a  churn  or  dairy-pan  ; 
But  she,  forsooth,  must  charm  a  man  !  " 


PART   V 


IN   THE    SHADOW 


POOR  Mabel,  homeward  turning,  passed 
The  nameless  terrors  of  the  wood, 
And  saw,  as  if  a  ghost  pursued, 


Her  shadow  gliding  in  the  moon  ; 

The  soft  breath  of. the  west- wind  gave 
A  chill  as  from  her  mother's  grave. 


55 


Mabel  Martin. 

How  dreary  seemed  the  silent  house ! 
Wide  in  the  moonbeams'  ghastly  glare 
Its  windows  had  a  dead  man's  stare  ! 

And,  like  a  gaunt  and  spectral  hand, 
The  tremulous  shadow  of  a  birch 
Reached  out  and  touched  the  door's  low  porch, 

As  if  to  lift  its  latch  :    hard  by, 
A  sudden  warning  call  she  heard, 
The  night-cry  of  a  boding  bird. 

She  leaned  against  the  door ;    her  face, 
So  fair,  so  young,  so  full  of  pain, 


White  in  the  moonlight's  silver  rain. 


Mabel  Martin. 


The  river,  on  its  pebbled  rim, 

Made  music  such  as  childhood  knew; 
The  door-yard  tree  was  whispered  through 


Mabel  Martin. 

By  voices  such  as  childhood's  ear 
Had  heard  in  moonlights  long  ago  ; 
And  through  the  willow-boughs  below 


She  saw  the  rippled  waters  shine ; 
Beyond,  in  waves  of  shade  and  light, 
The  hills  rolled  off  into  the  night. 


Mabel  Martin. 

She  saw  and  heard,  but  over  all 
A  sense  of  some  transforming  spell, 
The  shadow  of  her  sick  heart  fell. 


And  still  across  the  wooded  space 
The  harvest  lights  of  Harden  shone, 
And  song  and  jest  and  laugh  went  on. 

And  he,  so  gentle,  true,  and  strong, 
Of  men  the  bravest  and  the  best, 
Had  he,  too,  scorned  her'  with  the  rest  ? 


59 


Mabel  Martin. 

She  strove  to  drown  her  sense  of  wrong, 
And,  in  her  old  and  simple  way, 
To  teach  her  bitter  heart  to  pray. 


Poor  child!  the  prayer,  begun  in  faith, 
Grew  to  a  low,  despairing  cry 
Of  utter  misery  :    "  Let  me  die  ! 


Mabel  Martin. 

"  Oh  !    take  me"  from  the  scornful  eyes, 
And  hide  me  where  the  cruel  speech 
And  mocking  finger  may  not  reach ! 

"  I  dare  not  breathe  my  mother's  name : 
A  daughter's  right  I  dare  not  crave 
To  weep  above  her  unblest  grave ! 

"  Let  me  not  live  until  my  heart, 
With  few  to  pity,  and  with  none 
To  love  me,  hardens  into  stone. 

"  O  God !    have  mercy  on  thy  child, 

Whose  faith  in  thee  grows  weak  and  small, 
And  take  me  ere  I  lose  it  all ! " 


6 1 


Mabel  Martin. 

A  shadow  on  the  moonlight  fell, 

And  murmuring  wind  and  wave  became 
A  voice  whose  burden  was  her  name. 


PARiJ    VI 


THE    BETROTHAL 


HAD  then  God  heard  her?     Had  he  sent 
His  angel  down  ?     In  flesh  and  blood, 
Before  her  Esek  Harden  stood! 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm : 

"  Dear  Mabel,  this  no  more  shall  be ; 
Who  scoffs  at  you  must  scoff  at  me. 


Mabel  Martin. 

"  You  know  rough  Esek  Harden  well ; 
And  if  he  seems  no  suitor  gay, 
And  if  his  hair  is  touched  with  gray, 


"  The  maiden  grown  shall  never  find 

His  heart  less  warm  than  when  she  smiled, 
Upon  his  knees,  a  little  child  ! " 


66 


Mabel  Martin. 

Her  tears  of  grief  were  tears  of  joy, 
As,  folded  in  his  strong  embrace, 
She  looked  in   Esek   Harden's  face. 


Mabel  Martin. 

O,  truest  friend  of  all ! "  she  said, 
"  God  bless  you  for  your  kindly  thought, 
And  make  me  worthy  of  my  lot!" 


He  led  her  forth,  and,  blent   in  one, 
Beside  their  happy  pathway  ran 
The  shadows  of  the  maid  and  man. 


6S 


Mabel  Martin. 

He  led  her  through  his  dewy  fields, 

To  where  the  swinging  lanterns  glowed, 
And  through  the  doors  the  huskers  showed. 


Mabel  Martin. 

"  Good  friends  and  neighbors !  "  Esek  said, 
"  I  'm  weary  of  this  lonely  life ; 
In  Mabel  see  my  chosen  wife ! 

"  She  greets  you  kindly,  one  and  all ; 
The  past  is  past,  and  all  offence 
Falls  harmless  from  her  innocence. 

"  Henceforth  she  stands  no  more  alone  ; 
You  know  what  Esek  Harden  is ;  — 


He  brooks  no  wrong  to  him  or  his. 


"  Now  let  the  merriest  tales  be  told, 
And  let  the  sweetest  songs  be  sung 
That  ever  made  the  old  heart  young! 


Mabel  Martin. 

"For  now  the  last  has  found  a  home; 
And  a  lone  hearth  shall  brighter  burn, 
As  all  the  household  joys  return ! " 


O,  pleasantly  the  harvest-moon, 
Between  the  shadow  of  the  mows, 
Looked  on  them  through  the  great  elm-boughs 


Mabel  Martin. 

On  Mabel's  curls  of  golden  hair, 
On  Esek's  shaggy  strength  it  fell; 
And  the  wind  whispered,  "  It  is  well ! " 


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